


You're Wrong

by DeanWinchesterIsTrans



Category: Doctor Who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanWinchesterIsTrans/pseuds/DeanWinchesterIsTrans
Summary: Would Gallifrey really help the Master with the drums? Really?





	You're Wrong

"You're wrong, you know."

The statement was said late at night, staring up at the holographic sky. Fake sky or not, there was still something disconcerting for there to be a dead, empty sky, with not a single star to be found.

The people on the solar farms were kind, but out by their crashed ship, away from all the noisy, smelly humans with their too-loud thoughts was sometimes the best place to be. 'Overwhelming' was a good word to describe humanity.

Both versions of the Master were laying next to the Doctor out in the grass. Missy was curled up at his side, automatically shifting towards him in sleep. For the sake of safety, comfort, or just the familiarity of her childhood friend, he may never know. He had assumed her earlier incarnation was asleep too, like her, but apparently not.

The Doctor couldn't sleep either, too distressed about the concept of regenerating and being forced to change who he is again, for what felt like the thousandth time. It would only be the thirteenth, but it was still an unwelcome change, in his mind at least. The heavy weight of all the lives on this ship also loomed over his head. It was a doomed cause, but he was supposed to specialize in those, right?

"About what?" he asked, deciding that his typical 'insisting he was never wrong' attitude wouldn't be the best way to go about this.

"About Gallifrey. They didn't 'cure' me, like you assumed," the Master spat out derisively. "They may look favorably on you, Mr. Lord President, Sir, but why would they ever bother trying to fix with a diseased renegade Time Lord that had recently tried to kill the President? They decided it would be far simpler to just execute me."

The Doctor, for once, had nothing to say. Actually, that was a lie. He had plenty of things to say, but he wasn't sure if any of them would be right, or if the Master would even want to hear them at all.

The Master continued his story, "The thing is, every executioner had died in the Time War." He barked out a bitter laugh, "They actually wasted time training some poor bastard to be qualified to kill me. The almighty Council had decided it was worth it to waste time and resources to keep me locked up until my executioner was ready. It would've been simpler just to call a doctor-- an actual, proper medical one, but Elders seem to both hate me, and love to be theatrical in equal amounts." The Doctor couldn't see his face, but he assumed he was rolling his eyes. "I would've broken out and left that hellish planet immediately, but I was still drained and unstable from the shoddy ressurection. A bit of time on Gallifrey sorted that out eventually, 'no place like home' and all that, but with the constant, inevitable threat of execution over my head, that wasn't really a cause for celebration."

He fell silent for a moment, listening to the crickets sing out in the night. Where did they come from? he wondered. If this was an empty colony ship at the start, when and how did they get crickets, of all things? And birds too for that matter. The life signs of humans popping up made sense-- they, what was the Earth term? Bred like rabbits. But insects and birds, how?

He shoved those thoughts aside. The Master picked up where he left off, "Once you arrived, all dazzling and dramatic as usual-- nice job kicking Rassilon off the planet by the way-- it got slightly better. The Council still didn't let me get a damn doctor, and you never visited, but they did remove the death sentence. They decided against executing me, because they figured it would piss you off. You have a reputation for being a bad man to piss off, my dear." He laughed hollowly, a dry, harsh, empty rasp, "So afraid of killing me, just because of what you might do if you found out... When you've never given a damn about me."

The Master sighed wearily, summarizing, "You were wrong. Gallifrey was as helpful as ever, which is to say: next to none. I still hear the drums. They're fainter, but they're still there. I'm willing to bet that Lady Version over there still hears them too, she just copes better and is too soft to tell you a damn thing about what hurts."

The Doctor faintly whispers next to him, "You're wrong too."

"Excuse me?"

"I do care about you," he insisted.

The Master laughed again, cruelly. "As if! You've never cared about me, and you never will. It's our dynamic: I love you, you run away. I only ever break things, because you only ever pay attention to dangerous situations, you know. And even then you always leave afterwards. Always. No matter what I do. If I run towards danger, I'll find you, but you'll never see me, you'll never even try. But if I am the danger... well, it's the closest I may ever get to having a decent conversation with you."

"You love me?" the Doctor asked, voice shaky. Of course that's the one bit of that he'd catch on to. Oh dear, he's having an emotion.

The Master lay silently, furious at himself for letting that slip, furious for feeling that way. It sounded like the Doctor was crying. The Master felt that overwhelming surge of triumph, and hearts-wrenching guilt that always came with making him cry.

The Doctor took his silence as an answer. How he interpreted it, the Master had no idea. Some treacherous part of him pleaded he knew the answer was a resolute, truthful: yes, I will always love you and I always have. He tried to crush down that idiotic hope the instant it bubbled up, but that's the trouble with hope.

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor tried a different angle, "How did you get away?"

"Stole a TARDIS and ran away. Sound familiar? You nearly invented the concept."

The Doctor once again didn't know the right response, so he just stayed silent. The Master seemed to be finished monologuing too, for the time being, so they both lay in silence, staring up at the barren holographic sky. The Doctor, trying to pretend he wasn't crying in an attempt at saving face, and the Master, painfully aware that he had made his friend cry again.

The Doctor felt his hearts breaking, overwhelmed by regret and longing for a way to fix all of this. A way to fix everything, a way to set everything right.

The Master was swimming out of control, yanked about by feelings he never asked for and didn't want. Guilt and rage and sorrow and fear and love should never mix like that, but they were and it scared him, and he covered that fear up with anger the moment he recognized it as such. He desperately wanted to regain control of the situation, but didn't know where to begin. He reached up and felt his face. Was he... crying?

"Yes," the traitorous word slipped out before he could fully understand its potential repercussions.

The Doctor sniffed, pretending he was perfectly fine. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, yes," the Master repeated, a bit louder.

"Yes to what?" The Doctor sounded more confused than sad now.

As if speaking to a child, the Master explained, "You asked if I love you. I said yes." No going back now.

"Oh," the Doctor whispered.

The Master rolled over onto his side, facing away from the Doctor. Of course. What was he even expecting? Him to say--

"I love you too, Koschei," the Doctor promised the Master.

Oh.

The Master rolled back over to face him, wiping away the Doctor's tears as he did so.

He huffed and laid his head on the Doctor's chest. "You're an idiot, Theta," he informed the Doctor.

His friend hummed, shifting his position a bit to hold the Master close, running his fingers through his hair. "I thought you already knew that."

"I do, you just need reminding sometimes," the Master replied casually. Shortly after, he and the Doctor both drifted off to sleep.

And if Nardole woke up before them all, and took a picture of the Doctor all inelegantly tangled up with both versions of the Master, fast asleep, then they'd be none the wiser.

... Until the next day when Nardole showed most of the pesky humans the picture, finding it hilarious. Both versions of the Master found it hilarious as well, wanting to print it out, frame it, and keep it forever. It was embarrassing sure, but it was also incredibly embarrassing for the Doctor, so it was generally decided to be worth it. Said Doctor turned pink with embarrassment upon seeing the picture, and demanded all versions of it be deleted. He would've attempted to delete it himself, but the Masters efficiently distracted him, keeping him well out of arms reach of Nardole's precious computer. That photo was definitely here to stay.


End file.
